


Love Me, Take Me, Save Me - A compilation of Adoribull ficlets

by PeriPeriwinkle



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Angst, Blood, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeriPeriwinkle/pseuds/PeriPeriwinkle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With every new prompt, a new fic, and with every new fic, a new chapter. This is a compilation of all the Adoribull fanfics I've written and will still write.</p><p>(prompts are always welcome!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Horns

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt: bull breaks his horns, dorian is there for him but isn't sure what he can do.**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130502634232/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Angst, Blood, Hurt and Comfort

All that Dorian hears is the Bull  _screaming_.

The mage is on the floor, gasping for air as the ringing on his ears subside and the world comes back to focus. He looks to his left, to the charred remains of the man who took him down not ten seconds before, and then to his right, where he can see and feel the Bull’s feet thumping against the grassy field as the two warriors before him try to focus on his blind side. The side that Dorian was covering before he went down.  _Shit_.

He’d never thought he’d encounter bandits this close from the villa, nor did he think mere bandits would give him as much trouble as they did. Three heavily armed men suddenly became  _seven_ , and when he and Bull realized they were highly outnumbered there was no time to retreat.

Dorian lifts himself to his knees and holds on tightly to his staff, eyes focusing immediately on the two bulky men that are left standing.  They have deep gashes on their torso and burn marks on their arms, but are still able to sidestep Bull’s axe swings. Dorian tunnel visions, focusing all his remaining mana on an ice spell that catches both men by surprise; one of them gets his feet frozen to the ground, and the other slips on the slippery surface when he jumps to the side, falling on his ass. It’s all the distraction Bull needs, his axe swinging down onto both bodies at once.

When everything falls silent, Dorian looks up, a small smile on his face and a fun quip on the tip of his tongue, when he notices.

Bull’s  _horn_.

“ _Bull_ ,” Dorian gasps, and finally Dorian knows why Bull screamed like he did, why he sounded so distressed,  _why_ —

“ _Kadan_. Are you okay?” The Bull asks when he turns around, approaching Dorian, but his left horn is  _broken_ , bleeding, half of it is missing, the severed part dripping fresh blood everywhere when he moves his head. Dorian’s eye widen and he forces himself to stand when Bull helps him up, and the mage reaches up, fingers touching the horn just before where the bone was severed.

“I’m –  _I’m_  just fine,  _Bull_.” Dorian says again, his voice coming out in a pained breath. He looks around and quickly finds the other half, on the ground next to the deep marks of Bull’s footsteps, nearly hidden by the grass. “Amatus,” He breathes out again, his heart clenching painfully. “Amatus, your  _horn_.”

“I know.” The Bull replies, placing a warm and gentle hand on Dorian’s cheek, slowly turning his face up to look into a single grey eye. He doesn’t seem to be in much pain, but there’s something there, just below the surface, wavering. It’s not a vital body part, Dorian  _knows_ , but. Bull’s horns are an important part of his being, of his personality. It’s not a hand or a foot, but it damn well feels like it. Bull once told Dorian how much he loved them and how  _proud_  he was of them, always buying the best balms to make them shine  _just so_ , countless nights when the mage was more than happy to just rub them until Bull was putty on the floor between his legs, smiling up at him.

Dorian knows he must look inconsolable, too worried and tired to try and hide the amount of grief he feels at the moment for his Amatus; Bull’s face and shoulders drop when Dorian slides the hand on his horn to his cheek, strokes a thumb lovingly over the scarred skin.

Bull shuts his eye and squeezes it, mouth turning down and lips trembling in a sigh, and oh.  _Oh_.

A tear slides down his opposite cheek, and Dorian  _whines_.

“I know.” Bull says again, and Dorian throws his arms around his lover’s neck, hugging him tightly. He wants to say something, but he knows that nothing he can say could make it any better, so he just stays there and feels the tears prickling at his eyes when two arms circle his torso and hold him back, when the Bull hides his face in Dorian’s neck.

“ _Amatus_.” Dorian whispers, and he cries for him, because what else is there for him to do?


	2. Couple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: first time someone refers to them as a couple -- before they've recognised it themselves.**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130507154017/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Fluff, More Fluff, So Much Fluff, The Fluff Is Never Ending
> 
> \---

“If you don’t mind me saying, you two make a really cute couple.”

Dorian freezed up in Bull’s lap, the buzz of the drinks suddenly disappearing as the waitress’ words sobered him right up.

_Couple_. He thought he heard Krem making some snarky remark at Dorian’s reaction, and behind him the Bull laughed and gave a reply up to par to his Chargers, but he could feel his muscles were tense like the mage’s. They’ve fucked, what, twelve times now? And yes, every single time was  _amazing_ , and okay, soon after the mage began drinking with the warrior and his Chargers nearly every night at the tavern, Dorian feeling comfortable enough to kiss the Bull every now and then and sitting on his lap when it was colder than usual –  _yes_ , that was actually the only reason why he snuggled up to the man in public while slightly inebriated,  _thankyouverymuch_  – but surely they couldn’t yet qualify as a  _couple_ … could they?

The cogs in Dorian’s head were working wildly. Had Bull slept with anyone else since they began being intimate? Surely he must’ve had. They hadn’t explicitly made each other exclusive, so why wouldn’t Bull seek other partners? Dorian didn’t expect him not to, but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard Bull or the Chargers teasing their chief about his new lays like they used to, and they rarely ever made fun of Dorian, only starting when the mage began openly showing affection for Bull in front of them. In reality, Dorian didn’t care much for the light hearted teasing aimed at him. But thinking about it now, he… didn’t know  _why_ he didn’t mind it.

“Gold coin for your thoughts?”

Dorian’s head snapped up to look at Bull’s single eye. The qunari raised his eyebrow and offered a grin, and the mage shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“Still thinking about what the waitress said, huh.”

“Perhaps.” Dorian replied, thumbing the patterns around the tankard on his hands. “I haven’t thought much about… the specifics of our current relationship.” Bull hummed in acknowledgment, the sound rumbling deep where Dorian’s shoulder rested against a pectoral, and the hand on his shoulder blades rubbed soothingly, working the tension on the muscles there. Dorian sighed and relaxed. “Have you ever thought about it? About… us?”

“Not really, no.” Bull shrugged. “’Couple’ has a nice ring to it, though.”

Couple. Would that make Bull his lover? His  _partner_? The thought made Dorian’s heart thump wildly in his chest. He’d never had a partner before, only rushed lays and silly crushes. Nothing serious. He could  _never_ , not in Tevinter.

But here, in the south, in Skyhold…

Dorian looked up, assessing Bull’s expression as he took a few more gulps of his ale, eye still carefully watching the mage on his lap. Truthfully, Bull was  _handsome_. The epitome of masculinity, all hard and soft muscles and strong scents, firm holds and sharp features. But he was also gentle, caring, delicate, funny. He enjoyed honey sweetened cocoa and squealed excitedly when they talked about dragons and  _loved_  being tied up in bed just as much as Dorian did, and sometimes… sometimes he smiled at Dorian like he was his  _everything_.

“Would you like that? Being a couple?” Bull asked lowly, breaking the silence that fell around them, and Dorian breathed in deeply, a flush creeping up to his cheeks. He took Bull’s and his own tankard, putting them aside, and threw one leg at a time to either side of Bull’s hips, straddling him. He heard the Chargers cheer and clap, and the little alcohol in his system wasn’t really enough to not make him self-conscious of the act and how it must’ve looked like he was giving one hell of a show, but it was just enough to make him not care as much. Because all there was to him at that moment was Bull, _Bull_ , and how his moist lips parted slightly in a needy sigh, his grey eye looking down hungrily at Dorian’s mouth as the mage’s hands gently cradled his neck, manicured nails scratching his skin in all the right ways and sending shivers down the qunari’s body.

“Yes. Yes, I believe I would.” Dorian said, and kissed the Bull.

_Couple_. It really did have a nice ring to it.


	3. Baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Iron Bull accidently adopts an qunari orphan while Dorians is away on a mission.**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130514086572/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Qunary Baby Felix, Fluff, Even More Fluff, I Cannot Hold All This Fluff
> 
> \---

Dorian sits on his study, enjoying one of his rare free evenings ever since he arrived back in Tevinter, when the crystal behind the tooth that hangs around his neck starts vibrating, warming up. A genuine smile creeps up on his face and he marks the page he’s in, reaches down into his robes to catch the pendant and rub at the crystal. He hears a sigh not a moment later.

“ _Kadan_.” Comes the Bull’s voice, loud and  clear in the empty room, and Dorian’s smile broadens.

“Amatus. And here I thought my evening couldn’t get better. I was never gladder to be so wrong.” He hears a chuckle and lies back on his chair, propping his feet against the wooden desk, making himself comfortable. “How was your day?”

“Uh. Eventful.” He replies, and Dorian frowns. There’s something on Bull’s voice, something… off. Dorian tries not to worry. He fails.

“ _Bull_.” He says, his tone both accusing and filled with concern. Somehow he can  _feel_  the flinch of his lover, and the silence that stretches for the few seconds Dorian gives him to reply are tense. Like Bull is trying to say something but doesn’t know  _how_  to. “Bull. What did you do.”

“Nothing! I didn’t… ah, shit. I may have… done something. Accidentally. Honest.”

“You  _accidentally_  did something.” Dorian parrots, sitting up straight while looking at the window ahead of him like that could send his worried glare Bull’s way wherever he is, thumb rubbing the smooth tip of the tooth on his hand. “Amatus,  _please_  tell me you didn’t find a dragon egg and decided to keep it or anything of the sort.”

The silence stretches, and if that was even possible, it’s even  _more_  tense than before. He can hear Bull holding his breath, and his own heart thuds painfully.

“Andraste’s flaming knickers, Bull,  _did you find a dragon egg and decided to keep it_?!”

“ _No_!” Bull shouts, “No, not… exactly. Fuck. Okay. Please come to the Villa? I’m halfway there already, probably a two or three days ride. I don’t… know how to tell you this. Not through message crystal. Please?”

Dorian hesitates. It’s likely something really important for Bull to want to meet up with him instead of just telling him straight away. He watches the sunset, and the hand gripping the arm of his cushined seat tightens. He’s  _worried_. More than worried, Maker, he’s nearly  _shaking_  at this point.

“Okay. I’ll talk to Mae, have her rearrange my meetings for the next two weeks. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you, Kadan.” Bull whispers, and he sounds thoroughly relieved. Tired, even. Dorian smiles softly and brings the crystal to his lips, imagining Bull on the other side, doing the same.

“Anything for you, Amatus.”

—

On the afternoon of his third day Dorian arrives at the Villa. The elf that works as his stableman and tends to the house when Dorian isn’t around is brushing Bull’s stallion and waves when he approaches.

“Good afternoon, magister Pavus.” He says, taking the reign when Dorian hands it to him. “The Iron Bull arrived just last night and is inside the house, waiting for you.”

“Should I worry?” Dorian asks, grinning despite his nerves, and the elf gives him a weak smile back, shrugging.

“Better you see it for yourself, sire.”

He nods silently, pinching his lips. He decides he trusts the elf to take his luggage to the front porch as usual once he finishes unloading it, and turns around in a sprints towards the front door, unlocking it with the key at his belt pouch and walking in. He scans the empty living and dining room for any sign of the Bull, eyeing the dirty plates and jars on the kitchen’s marble counters curiously, when he hears a high pitched whine coming from their bedroom. He freezes, and the whine becomes a full-on sob.

A  _baby_  sob.

Dorian is momentarily stunned, feet frozen to the floor, but he forces his legs to obey him, to take him to where the bedroom door is ajar. He can hear the Bull shooshing, whispering,  _cooing_. Dorian feels light-headed.

The Bull turns around when he hears Dorian gasp at the sight of two stubby, grey legs flailing in the air behind where bull is sitting on the bed, kicking at nothing. First he looks tired, but then he looks on high alert. Worried.

“Kadan.” He breathes out, shoulders slumping, and Dorian steps closer, going around the bed, slowly seeing more and more of the tiny naked body over the blankets, and as soon as the baby – the  _qunari_  baby, mind you – comes to full view, the child sees him for the first time and immediately stops crying, big green eyes widening up in wonder, and the magister feels like all the air rushes straight out of him.

Dorian thought it was a  _dragon_. Somehow he feels like a dragon would’ve been much, much easier to deal with than  _this_.

“The Chargers and I came across an empty house about a week ago.” Bull starts as Dorian crawls up onto the bed, kneeling besides the baby, exactly opposite to Bull. “They must’ve been Tal-Vashoth. They had signs of struggle, the whole house was upside down, picked clean of any valuables. They couldn’t have been dead for long, the stench wasn’t too strong and we felt awful for not being there sooner. But then we heard something, and when we tried to find where it came from we saw a blanket shuffling and a muffled scream in the bedroom and – well. We found  _him_.”

“Him” meaning the tiny baby looking up at Dorian like he was the most amazing thing in the whole wide world. He had nubs on his forehead where horns would likely sprout later on, and his limbs had baby fat all over, making him look highly  _squishable_. He made tiny gurgly noises with his throat and lips and clenched his little fingers. Dorian found he was positively  _adorable_.

“The kid was nearly dead by the time we found him. Throat raw from screaming, weak from hunger, the whole ordeal. We thought he wouldn’t make it at first, but the tiny one kept getting stronger every day, and…  _shit_ , Dorian. I saw  _sparks_ coming from his fingers when I was playing with him. The male qunari in the house had stitches scars on his lips, I can’t… I can’t hand him to the Qun, they’d…”

 _A mage qunari_. Dorian looks up at Bull, the deep frown making his whole face scrunch up, the scars deepening and making him look older. Concerned.   _Hopeful_.

Dorian reaches down, gathering the baby on his arms. He’s not as heavy as he thought he would be, and immediately the little bundle of joy reaches up and palms at his cheeks, fusses up his mustache. Dorian chuckles, smiling.  _Oh he’s doomed already_.

“I guess it can’t be helped, then, can it?” Dorian whispers, adjusting the baby on his arms and touching noses with him and promptly making him chuckle, the sound so marvelous his heart flutters and warmth radiates through him, like sunshine on his bare skin on a warm summer morning. Bull crawls up closer, sitting down next to Dorian until he can wrap an arm around the magister’s wide shoulders and plant a kiss to his cheek. The baby coos up at them and Bull laughs softly at him. “What’s his name?” Dorian asks, gently, eyes never leaving the child’s, and Bull rests the side of his head atop Dorian’s, the curve of his horn fitting perfectly against his hair. He hums.

“I was thinking… Felix.” He whispers, and Dorian feels his breath catch, his throat momentarily burning up.  _Felix_. How long had it been since he’d thought about him. The baby curls up and yawns, mouth gummy and tongue peeking out, and Dorian laughs at the sight, sniffing a little. Bull squeezes the shoulder he’s holding on to and Dorian nods, turning to him, hiding his face on his clavicle. “Think he’d like it, Kadan?”

“ _Yes_.” Dorian replies, holding the baby closer, allowing the Bull to wrap them both in his arms, pull Dorian to sit comfortably in his lap. “Yes. Felix would  _love_  it.”

“Felix it is, then.” Bull whispers, and  _yes_. This is what a family feels like, isn’t it.

What a lovely little accident this is.


	4. Novel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Dorian isn't aware that Varric has actually published a novel about him and Bull until Cassandra tries to talk to him about it**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130519726202/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Varric asked for a butt whooping tbh, Mild Humour I Guess?, Implied Angry Sexy times
> 
> \---

“I must admit, Dorian, it is hard to picture your soft side, but I believe that Varric did a wonderful job at it. Tell me, did you or The Iron Bull gave him any suggestions at all, or was it all from his imagination?”

Dorian looked up from his breakfast – a very nice one up until that point – and allowed himself a few good seconds to try and take in what Cassandra just said.

“Varric”, “Imagination” and “Dorian’s soft side”, all in the same sentence. It didn’t bode well with him, and he felt the color draining from his face at the implications. Cassandra leaned back in her chair, looking shocked for a second, and then sighed, shaking her head.

“He didn’t even  _tell_  you, did he.” She muttered, both to herself and to Dorian, poking at a piece of strawberry from her plate and popping it to her mouth. Dorian gaped at the woman, mouth moving like he wanted to say something, because he  _did_ , he wanted to _scream_  and  _deny_  and, oh Maker, _beg it_  to not be true–

She reached down to her side, where a bag she’d brought in lied, and placed a book atop the table, sliding it towards him. A  _quite_   _thick_  book at that; five hundred pages at the very least from the looks of it. The cover was leather and had a black-and-white drawing of a man and a qunari with wide horns, both wearing cloaks and looking straight at each other. And although it wasn’t very detailed, they did indeed look  _very_ much like…

“Please oh  _please_  tell me this is not what I think it is, Seeker.” Dorian squeaked out, hands curled up in fists and shaking atop the wooden table. Cassandra frowned.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe he’s published it.  _Yet_.” She added, and Dorian looked at her with a desperate and mildly nauseous look in his eyes. “This is one of the very few he had printed out, just to see what his inner circle of friends thought of it. He knows I enjoy his writing, and thus gave one to me. I found it to be very… _saccharine_ , but a lovely work of his, as they all are.” The Seeker looked  up then and glared at Dorian, making him flinch. “Do  _not_  tell him I said that. Anyway,” she touched the book again, pushed it further towards Dorian, who scooted back against his chair, like the book could physically  _hurt him_ if it came any closer. “Keep it. I finished it last night, and found it to be quite lovely. But of course, I  _do_  expect you to return it.”

Dorian looked up as she rose from her chair with her empty plate and bag and nodded at him, turning around and walking away without waiting for a farewell. Of course, no words came either way. He failed to decide whether he was shocked or downright offended or just plain embarrassed at the thought of having his entire love life out there, for all of Thedas to see.

He looked down at the offending object, and wondered how much of the story was actually true, and told himself that was the only reason he’d submit himself to the torture that would be  _actually reading it_.

—

Surprisingly, it was… shockingly accurate.

And at the same time it was just as horrifically embarrassing as he imagined it’d be, as he recalled every single moment in the book, down to the smells, the lights, the tastes, almost exactly as they were being described on the pages.

And if having his love life broadcasted to the world wasn’t bad enough, knowing people would be aware of his  _sex life_  as well was enough to make him dizzy. He actually had to stop reading and walk up towards an open window in the library to catch some fresh air as soon as he realized where  _that_  particular scene in chapter seven was headed, and it took all his willpower not to scream in frustration or chuck the book out into the courtyard. He knew Cassandra would have his head for damaging it.

Then he remembered that Cassandra  _owned_  the damned book, and  _read_  the damned book, and  _Maker_. How did Varric even—

He widened his eyes.

_Bull_.

“Amatus, I will… oh,  _how could you_!” He screamed at the open air, turning around to find his targets. Varric, Bull, whoever appeared in his line of sight first.

Such was his luck – he found both men sitting at the tavern, laughing over drinks. Dorian knew he was still flushing, still shaking, the book tightly hooked under his arm.

He approached them and banged the book loudly over their shared table. Both men jumped, startled, but whatever they were about to say died in their throats as they caught sight of Dorian and the book before them.

“Ah.” Bull grinned, curling up onto himself, to appear smaller. Dorian  _fumed_.

“ _Aaah_.” Varric chuckled, bringing the drink to his lips and looking up at the mage. “So. Sparkler. You’ve discovered my most recent masterpiece. What’d you think?”

“ _Honestly…_!” Dorian gritted between his teeth, then turned the other way, pointing an accusing finger at Bull, whose smile twitched. “ _You_! You  _helped_  him!”

“We’re characters in a book, Dorian!” The Bull smiled, lifting his tankard at the mage. Dorian huffed, nonplussed. “Come on, what’s not to like?”

“Oh,  _I don’t know_. How about the entirety of  _chapter seven_?”

“Oh, he got to  _that_  part.” Varric chuckled, and Dorian stood up straighter, glaring down at the dwarf. He couldn’t tell who he was madder at.

“You will  _not_  publish this. I absolutely  _forbid_  you.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t, Sparkler, pinky promise.” Varric said, raising both hands up in surrender, then reached down and took the book, handing it back to Dorian. “I only printed three copies. I have one, Bull has another, and I believe this is Cassandra’s. The story won’t leak beyond our inner circle unless you change your mind and personally tells me as much, I promise.”

Dorian bared his teeth at the dwarf, red with fury. He wanted to punch something, break something,  _set someone on fire_. He was  _livid_  about the whole ordeal, and how he seemed to be the last in on an inside joke, like his personal life was a  _thing_  to be poked and prodded and made fun of. He looked back at Bull, who was trying to hide behind his drink, and glared, making the qunari flinch.

“You. Me. My quarters.  _Now_.”

—

A few hours of angry sex was enough to quench Dorian’s ire to a low simmer, and as they lied next to each other, both equally exhausted, Dorian traced his fingers over one of Bull’s many scars.

“I’m sorry, Kadan.” He whispered for the umpteenth time, but sounded much more serious now, his voice with no hint of humor. “I truly am. I should’ve told you, but… I was so excited about having a story about me, about  _us_ , you know? It’s like we could live forever that way.”

Dorian sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “It’s ok. I understand. I’m… not that mad, I guess. Just embarrassed, mostly. It’s hard to imagine, having hundreds of people… _knowing_  about me and you that much. That  _deeply_.”

“I know,” he said, kissing the top of the mage’s head. “You should finish it, at least. See what you think before putting your foot down. I think it’s a great story and it’s one worth sharing, you know?”

Dorian had thought about that, if he was being honest with himself, about it being a story worth sharing. So he remained silent, idly petting Bull as he gave himself fully to his thoughts, and after Bull was fast asleep he got up, lit up a small candle next to the bed, and picked the story from where he’d stopped, fighting his way through the more spicy scenes and swallowing the lumps in his throat during the more touchy feeling ones. Bull and Varric didn’t add many details about Dorian’s personal life, and for that he was glad, but at the same time, for that reason… it felt lacking.

Bull woke up in the morning right when Dorian was finally closing the book on his lap.

“Did you sleep at all, Kadan?“ he asked, pulling Dorian down to curl up next to him, and the mage sighed.

“No. But I finished the book. And I have some alterations to ask of Varric before he decides to publish it. The three of us should arrange a meeting with him to discuss them.”

Bull’s eye widened, and his mouth hung open. “Are you saying you agree to publish it?” he asked, shocked and excited all the same, and Dorian grinned.

“Perhaps. We shall see what Varric does with my suggestions, and then… maybe. Who knows.”


	5. If Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: if only he could understand, and maybe he can.**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130587196522/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Spoilers for DA:I, Fluff
> 
>  
> 
> \---

If only he could understand, Dorian thinks, wrapped up in Bull’s arms, breathing deeply after waking up from a dream. He’d dreamt of his father, of his mother, looking down at him with dissappointment in their faces and a snarl in their mouths.  _You are no son of mine_ , and the voice came from both and neither of them and from everywhere at once, and even now, after waking, Dorian can hear it, clear as day, over and over again.  _No son of mine_ , they’d said.

Dorian knows he shouldn’t care as much as he does, but he does indeed, and it  _hurts_. He craves for his parents’s approval and love even now, just as he always did, even though he doesn’t need it and they don’t deserve it.

Another deep breath, and he wishes he could tell all of this to Bull, and make him understand somehow. The Qun doesn’t have families like humans do, and trying to explain what Dorian can barely understand himself is a feat that hurts too much and touches too deep for him to be able to even try.

But then.

But then Gatt comes along, calls Bull Hissrad, and Dorian’s blood  _boils_. The Qun set up a trap to test his loyalty; make him choose between his Chargers - his companions, his friends, his  _family_  - and his people - the way of living he’s always followed, his culture, the only thing he felt that he truly knew in his life.

It seems like an easy choice to anyone else, but Dorian knows better. After the incident, he sees the telltales, and it reminds him of… himself, in a way. Of how he was right after he left his parents’ estate. He knows exactly how the Bull is feeling from the way the qunari sulks when he’s alone, the way he looks awfully pensive when he thinks no one is paying attention to him.

If only Dorian could understand, he thinks, but then again, maybe he can. It’s not the same, no, but it hits too close to home. The Bull needs him, and Dorian has always needed the Bull, whether he could admit it or not.

“Amatus. Let’s talk.” Dorian whispers, a reassuring hand around his lover’s wrist, and Bull smiles at him, softly,  _sadly_ , before rising to his feet and following him to his -  _their_  - quarters.

If only he could understand, but maybe - just  _maybe_ , he already does.


	6. Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Dorian joins the Chargers for the first time for meal made by The Iron Bull himself! Dorian never thought he could cook and when food was ready it didn't LOOK like it would be edible at all! But Krem calms him down it reassures him "It may look horrible now, but it's the taste that changes your mind"**
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/130991554127/)
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Gross looking food, Cutes being cutes
> 
>  
> 
> \---

“What’s _in it_?”

Krem looked at him with a look that screamed _I’m judging you_ , a thick brow lifting up to further prove his point.

“Altus, it’s not like someone _puked_ on your bowl and gave it back to you.”

 _Someone might as well have_ , Dorian though, but didn’t say it out loud because not ten feet from them Bull was serving the… _stew_ -thing to the rest of his Chargers, talking excitedly with them. He could fool himself by saying his Amatus probably wouldn’t hear him if he murmured _very_ quietly, but Dorian knew better; those twitching ears could hear _everything_.

Krem sighed after a few uncomfortable seconds of silence when the Altus couldn’t decide which answer wouldn’t sound rude or crude, and Krem waited for a retort in Bull’s defense, maybe a witty remark, _anything at all_ , sighing when nothing came.

“Look, just… it’s not pretty, but I promise you it tastes amazing. Just give it a try.

Dorian looked down again at the bowl in his hands, carefully maintaining his neutral face – which he knew must’ve looked awfully forced by then. How foolish of him, dreading to eat his dinner like a child! Even worse, _Bull’s_ _dinner_. Although Dorian wasn’t allowed to help him with it (“I want it to be a surprise, Kadan, I know you’ll love it!”) he knew it wasn’t poisoned or had insects in it or anything of the sort. He’d drank enough honey sweetened cocoa made from scratch by Bull to know that the qunari knew the basics of cooking quite well.

Still. Drinks and meals were two opposites. Cocoa didn’t look… this _mushy_ and _lumpy_.

He gripped the spoon and sunk it into the bowl, mixing the unidentified stew around to cool it.  It wasn’t liquid as soup, nor as thick as porridge, and he could see tiny green pieces of herbs in it, which boosted his confidence some. The overall color wasn’t very… appealing, but he had to admit the smell, although subtle, was nice.

He closed his eyes and brought the spoon to his lips, focusing on not making a face, and…

“ _Oh_.”

“Is that a good ‘oh’?” Came a voice from beside him, and Dorian jumped, clutching the bowl to his chest lest he dropped it. Bull was watching him with a hopeful look in his single eye, which Dorian could swear was _glinting_ , and apparently the rest of the camp had fallen silent when he was distracted, making him blush once he realized all eyes were on him. To his left, Krem chuckled.

“It’s… yes, Maker , it’s amazing, Bull!” Dorian finally said, repositioning himself and taking another spoonful of the mix. Just the right amount of spicy, a bit on the sweet side, the tiniest hint of seasoning, mixed in with strange flavors he couldn’t identify for the life of him. Bull saw that he wasn’t just complimenting the food to make him feel better, that the sentiment behind the mage’s words were genuine, so he smiled, so bright and so relieved Dorian couldn’t help but smile back. “Say, what’s in it? I can’t figure it out, it’s driving me up the walls!”

Bull chuckled, waving his head. “I figured you wouldn’t. It’s _cocoa powder_. Very bitter, but great on savory food if you know how to cook it. Glad you like it.”

Dorian looked down again at the bowl with wonder in his eyes. Of course. _Cocoa_. He chuckled, saving the information for later.

“It’s _lovely_ , Amatus. Thank you.”


	7. Aquinea Thalrassian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: aquinea finally meets bull after dorian's rescue.**
> 
>  
> 
> [Link to original post on Tumblr](http://gobetti.tumblr.com/post/131455068597/)
> 
>  
> 
> Tags for this chapter: Mentions of past torture, Fluff
> 
>  
> 
> \---

Dorian opens his eyes.

It takes him a while, his vision blurry with exhaustion and head light because of how weak his body is, but slowly he begins to recognize the shapes, the colors, the smells. He’s lying in his own bed, in his own manor – no, _his family’s_ manor, he corrects himself – and _Bull_ – Bull is at his side, holding his hand, thumb stroking his skin.

It feels odd, to say the least. Slowly, bits and pieces start coming back to him. The last words he said to Bull before he tore off the connection on the communication crystal, the ambush, the kidnap, and lastly the rescue mission. Bull is in _Tevinter_ , he tells himself yet again, in the home where he grew up in nevertheless – there are probably slaves outside, promptly waiting to be called upon as they always have, which he knows is most likely making his lover’s skin crawl – and Bull is with him in his room. _Bull._

Dorian knows why he’s here and cannot bring himself to complain. It makes sense that his mother would’ve offered the manor to help with Dorian’s recovery; Mae wouldn’t be able find anywhere in Qarinus that was close enough and, most importantly, _safe_ enough to take him to after they left the hideout he was being kept in, given that her own home was much too far, in the very outskirts of Tevinter. And after nearly three whole days with no food or water and no way to move any of his limbs, being denied sleep, tortured day and night... what little was left of Dorian’s rational mind in that dark and damp stone cell knew he was just a few hours away from dying when the Chargers came. He was unfit to travel then and still is now, and that is the only reason why Bull is still by his side in Tevinter and not on his way with Dorian towards their Villa. He needs all the rest he can get.

“Kadan.” Comes a voice from above, and Dorian opens his eyes fully to look at Bull. “You’re awake. I’m glad.” There’s more to the words than the Bull lets on, but Dorian knows, hears them when no one else could. _I was worried. I‘ve been waiting and would wait for as long as needed. I missed you. I won’t ever leave your side_. Bull gulps. “Do you need anything?”

“…the Chargers?” Dorian asks instead of replying, voice rasp, and Bull gives him a cup of water and a comforting smile. Dorian drinks greedily while Bull talks.

“They’re all okay, Kadan. The servants took them to some of the rooms in here to rest some.”

“And Mae?”

“Mae is fine. She’s tough, and a damn good fighter. We’re lucky to have her on our good side.”

“Truly we are,” Dorian chuckles, no traces of humor in his voice as he thanks Bull for the water and the man takes the glass from his hand and sets it back on the nightstand. He breathes in tightly and looks out the window that leads to his private veranda. A sparrow lands on one of the chairs outside and sings. Bull’s thumb caresses his knuckles firmly yet gently, and he breathes out, deflating slowly.

“Rest, Kadan. I can hear from up here when you think too hard like that.” Bull whispers, a hint of amusement to mask his worried tone, and Dorian lets out a huff of breath, licking his lips.

“I am resting, Amatus. You needn’t worry so much.” Dorian whispers, grinning up at the man to reassure him he’s being honest, but from the door, a voice _tuts_.

“Listen to the man, my dear. He is _clearly_ far wiser than you are.”

Dorian tenses, and Bull feels it from where they’re still touching, immediately straightening his back and looking at the woman at the doorway with a distrustful eye. Aquinea smiles broadly at the sight of her son, but Dorian sees that it’s not the political smile she saves for the magisters during their quaint and petty parties that she oh-so-hates; rather it’s the warm, sincere one she always directed at Dorian when she spoke to him, crinkling the corners of her blue eyes. The sharp heel of her shoes clack on the marble floors, but she walks into the bedroom towards his bed like she’s gliding on the floor.

“Mother,” he says, squeezing Bull’s hand on his own, because he can’t think of anything else to do.

She overheard Dorian calling him Amatus, he realizes, which is probably why she’s decided to step in instead of eavesdropping some more.

“Dorian, my dear, it’s so good to see you awake. You look better already,” she coos, voice gentle and dripping with genuine relief, bending down to touch Dorian’s shoulder lightly, and to his side Bull’s hand squeezes his own, just for a second, just _so_ , and it makes Dorian relax. _I’m_ _here_ _with you_ , are the unspoken words behind the gesture. _Whatever she throws at us, we can handle it, together._

She straightens up and looks over to where Bull sits, and gives him a careful smile, one that says she doesn’t know how to feel about him, but she’s getting there. “Aquinea Thalrassian, from house Pavus,” she says, offering Bull her hand, and Dorian eyes the wrinkled lines around her fingers warily, so different from the smooth pale skin he remembers from his childhood, perfect and soft like she was, adorned with as much jewelry as it was possible to get away with. Her eyes don’t flicker to Bull’s scars, but Dorian knows she’s studying them, judging them silently. As she always did.

“The Iron Bull, ma’am. A pleasure to meet you.” A lie, they both know it, but Bull takes her hand on his own and shakes it anyway, promptly ignoring the house signet he knows is there. She doesn’t look surprised or taken aback, just nods and accepts the gesture with an amused upturn of her lips. Her eyes flicker down to the matching dragon tooth necklaces hanging around both their necks, Dorian’s purposefully above the blankets that cover him and Bull’s lying over his pectorals, a stark contrast against his grey skin, and she straightens her back, putting on a more serious and official pose, standing high and tall to look down at them both.

Silence stretches painfully over the room, and he wishes she’d go away, to allow him to rest and to have more than just a brief moment of privacy with his lover, but he knows it’s foolish. He knows his mother, and if anything, she’s a woman that, once she decides on something, rarely ever goes back on it. So they both wait as her eyes scan the pair, undoubtedly making her considerations and mentally taking notes of what she sees, of what she _doesn’t_ see, and what it all means together in the greater picture.

“You’re the one who saved my son’s life,” is what she settles on, and Bull nods, his face impassive. Too many years of being a Ben-Hassrath spy to let a Tevinter woman get to him this way. Also, Dorian has told Bull about her, albeit very little, and he knows Bull doesn’t care much for her.

“Yes, ma’am. Me and my boys.”

“And how did you know where he was, if I may ask?”

 _Maevaris_ , Dorian thinks, but Bull shrugs, says simply, “I have contacts,” and leaves it at that.

Aquinea nods, thanks Bull again, and says something that sticks with Dorian:

“If you’re even in need of anything within Qarinus or its surroundings, just send me a messenger, and I’ll make sure to have it done _discreetly_ ,” which Dorian knows is her way of saying _I owe you more than I care to admit_.

One week later, when Dorian recovers enough of his strength to ride a horse on his own and not wobble once he dismounts, he’s not at all surprised – unlike Bull, whose eye is as wide as a saucer and his jaw open in silent disbelief – to find a luxurious oak bed amongst various traditional qunari jewelry and décor in the master bedroom of the Villa’s main house. Atop a brand new goose feather pillow there’s a note from Mae that says _“Your mom asked me to have these delivered to you and your paramour. How could I ever say no?”_

 _How could she ever indeed_ , Dorian thinks as he watches Bull decorate his horns and neck and arms with the jewelry before their mirror, a wide, giddy smile on his lips.

Maybe there _is_ some slither of hope for his wretched failure of a family, after all.


	8. Halward's grandchild

He comes through the gates of Skyhold with his hood pulled low over his head, hiding his features, blended in with a merchant caravan. The guards spare him a few glances, but say nothing as he dismounts and hands over his horse to the horsemaster.

“Not with the merchants?” The man asks, voice low, and Halward is so anxious and tired from the trip he cannot pretend to be surprised. He shakes his head.

“Ah, no. I’m just... looking for someone. Family.”

“Right. Well, you give trouble for the Inquisition, and you’ll be paying for it in more ways than just the one, stranger.”

“Right. Right.” He nods absently and turns around, making his way towards the main courtyard.

He looks around. Dorian, back in Redcliffe, told him he was set to work at the library, but not only does he not know where that might be, he can’t just saunter in like he owes the place. He’s already sticking out as a sore thumb as it is, his steps slow as he assesses his surroundings, the people around looking at him with suspiciousness.

He sees a sign that indicates a tavern of some sort and decides that he should stop and rest before making any more decisions.

He’s barely finished with his first bow of (horrendous) stew when he hears his voice.

“Bull,  _ please.  _ You have to hold her, she won’t stop  _ whining _ .”

Halward turns in his seat, perhaps a bit faster than he should have, but fortunately he only draws the attention of the bartender, who eyes him with a raised brow. He ignores the dwarf in favor of staring at Dorian, coming down the rattly wooden stairs, holding a bundle in his arms, followed close behind by a Qunari, the biggest he’s ever seen, a grin on his face as he looks down at Dorian.

“You know she gets grumpy when she’s hungry, Kadan. Here, give her to me.”

They’re partially hidden by the stairs, but he sees Dorian sigh and pass the bundle to the qunari called Bull, making Halward’s face drain of all color. Dorian moves to the bar, talks quietly to the bartender, and Halward watches in horror as the dwarf, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of him the entire time, whispers to Dorian and points towards his table.

Dorian looks back, brow raised, and widens his eyes as he recognizes the man sitting there.

“Pater...!” He says, aghast, hand reaching back for his staff in a practiced motion, frowning when he grasps nothing but thin air. Halward gulps. “You...! You  _ dare _ come here, in Skyhold of all places! Was the embarrassment in Redcliffe not enough for you?”

Halward opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, cheeks flushing. He looks from Dorian to the Qunari, stares at the bundle of cloth cradled in the man’s arm, then presses his lips together.

“There were... rumours,” he says, carefully, looking up at Dorian, who slowly seems to shift from angry to confused. “About a child of yours.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Bull says, making the bartender laugh and Dorian sigh and shake his head.

Bull approaches Halward’s table, and the closer he comes the more Halward deflates. He sees first a slithery tail, then a peek of a fragile wing, and finally a long green snout pushing the cloth away from its eyes.

Cradled in the man’s arms is a baby dragon.

“Pater, meet Esmerald,” Dorian says, indicating the scrawny creature that’s whining in Bull’s arms. “She’s the fruit of one of the Inquisitor’s newest... researches. Hatched just a few weeks ago, and me and Bull are fostering her for the time being.”

“Hungry little fella,” Bull adds, voice deep and rumbling, making Halward jump in his seat as he places the bundle in his arms while he’s distracted. The dragon yawns loudly, lolling out a pink tongue framed by two perfect rows of razor sharp little teeth, then whines as she looks up at him with shiny green eyes. “Likes  _ biting  _ things.”

Dorian slaps Bull lightly in the arm, pulling a grin from the qunari’s lips. “Oh hush you amatus, she’s  _ teething _ , what do you expect?”

“A- _ amatus _ ?” Halward stutters, head shooting back up from where the dragon’s now licking his bowl, making Dorian freeze. He turns to Halward with wide eyes, probably belatedly realizing his slip.

“Well, you see--”

“ _ Pater, tama! _ ”

The door of the tavern slams against the wall, bringing with it a cold draft and various laughing voices, and mixed with all that is the pitter-patter of tiny feet running towards their table. Dorian immediately bends down, picks a child off the floor, and lifts them up in the air as they both laugh.

The child - boyish clothes, ashen skin, pointy ear, a couple of tiny nubs on his forehead - looks back to where Halward is most definitely staring, deep black eyes widening as he gasps with wonder.

“Pater!” He exclaims, tiny little hands grasping the air towards Halward, who tenses up. He then looks back at Dorian, looking confused. “Pater?” He asks, then looks again at Halward, getting mildly worried. “Pa-Pater!”

“Hey, little Felix here thinks you’re Dorian!” Bull exclaims, and Dorian chuckles.

“Well, we do look very much alike, although I’d never grow such a beard,” Dorian says as he bends down to let the child wrap a tiny chubby hand around one of Halward’s offering fingers. The child tightens his hold like a vice, eyeing their connected hands with an innocence and wonder that can only belong to a fully trusting infant. Little Esmerald pushes the now empty bowl away and yawns, leaning forward to lick their connected hands and making Felix giggle, then curls up against Halward’s chest, sighing loudly. Halward’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

“Father...” Dorian whispers, the faintest smile upon his lips. “Meet your grandchildren.”


	9. Fight me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on [this](http://gobetti-random.tumblr.com/post/156183626445/officialcadbane-ohsebs-ohsebs-ohsebs-my) "imagine your otp" post on tumblr:
> 
> _my nurse just came in to check my vitals and I told him to fight me from beneath a mountain pillows. He just moved my pillows and told me maybe later._
> 
> _he just came in again and when I tried to tell him to fight me again I started coughing and I couldn’t breathe and then then he just smiled and told he won’t fight me because he knows I’d win_
> 
> _Apparently I seduced him with my drool and terrible lungs because he wrote his number on a coffee from the giftshop under “fight me?”_
> 
> so here is the otp in all its cute glory

****Dorian is rushed to the hospital on a Friday night.

He doesn’t remember much of it. He remembers bright lights, the smell of blood, muffled voices speaking to him in worried tones.

He also remembers feeling nauseous, a world of pain, and an exhaustion so acute all he wants is to close his eyes to will everything away.

So he does just that.

Then, nothing.

He wakes up what feels like hours later, blinking up in confusion at an unfamiliar ceiling in a weird-smelling room, a constant beeping around him somewhere. He turns his head to the side with some difficulty, then jumps when someone yelps next to him and flings themselves over him.

The beeping intensifies.

“Dorian, oh Dorian! You’re awake, you’re awake, thank the Maker, I’m so glad you’re okay!” A familiar voice cries somewhere above him, and Dorian turns his head just as the door to the room he’s in opens to let in a large man, as tall as he doorframe he came through, wearing white scrubs and looking very worried.

And above him is none other than Felix.

“What--” he starts to say, stopping to cough when the word makes something rattle in his throat, and then in his lungs. The strange man comes closer and start touching and prodding him, speaking with Felix in low and supposedly soothing tones as Dorian tries fruitlessly to stop coughing.

When he finally manages he’s gasping for air, sweat gathering on his brow, his entire body but especially his chest and throat flaring up with a pain so sharp he feels like he has a thousand needles digging into his muscles. The man comes into his field of vision, an eyepatch covering a large scar on the left side of his face, a worried frown marring the skin between his brows.

“Dorian? You with us?”

Dorian exhales with the intention of speaking, but the pain flares up again so he settles on nodding weakly. The man nods back.

“I’m Bull, one of the nurses that’s going to take care of you. The doctor will be here in a little bit. Do you remember what happened last night?”

Dorian closes his eyes to think. He remembers it was a Friday night, he went to the club by himself, danced and flirted for hours on end as usual.

He then remembers stepping out of the club at around two, feeling tired but happily tipsy, content to walk the thirty minutes home instead of taking a cab, the chilly evening cooling the sweat on his flushed face and the clear sky above giving him a nice view of the full moon.

He remembers he didn’t make it three blocks from the club when he encountered a group of five men, shaved heads and blue eyes and sneers on their raised lips, taunting and sneering as if personally offended by Dorian’s apparently obvious sexuality. Dorian, in response, spat on the floor by their feet and rebuked all their mean comments, unwilling to just take the abuse without a fight.

And a fight he got indeed.

The last thing he remembers before everything starts getting blurry around the edges is lying on the concrete floor of the sidewalk, thinking how nice the moon looked that evening.

When he opens his eyes again, the nurse is still looking at him expectantly. Dorian nods slowly in response to his question.

“Homophobes. Had a fight.” He croaks out much to the nurse’s apparent distress, because he places a hand on his shoulder as soon as the first word comes out of his mouth, eyes wide with worry.

“No, no, no, you don’t have to speak. But it’s good that you remember, means they didn’t hit your in the head too hard. That’s good.” He pulls one of Dorian’s lids back, flashes it with a pen light, then moves to his arm to take his blood pressure. Dorian sighs softly and turns to look at Felix, still by his bedside and now lightly squeezing one of his hands.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he says, sniffing, and Dorian frowns. He hates when Felix cries. “When the hospital called me, I-- I can’t believe you have _me_ as your emergency number.”

“Trust you the most,” Dorian whispers, which just makes Felix’s bottom lip tremble as another tear runs down his cheek.

“‘Scuse me,” He mumbles, turning around and fleeing out of the room, leaving Dorian with the hot nurse who’s writing things down on a clipboard. He smiles after Felix.

“Sweet guy. He your boyfriend?”

“Friend.”

“Well, he seems to really care about you, so that’s really good. Glad you have such a loyal friend by your side. Now let’s talk about your situation, mister lucky son of a gun.”

Dorian’s situation is as follows: four broken ribs, a heavily bruised throat, a small concussion, several sprained fingers and injured knuckles.

“I can see you didn’t go down without a fight yourself,” the nurse points out as he lifts Dorian’s knuckles up to his eye level, and Dorian flinches: they’re multiple shades of red, purple and yellow, the skin raw and sore. “I shouldn’t say this, but between you and I: good on you for defending yourself. We got one of the perps in with you with a swollen eye and a broken nose. We called the cops on them, too. They’ll want to take your statement as soon as possible.”

“I-- t-thank you.” Is all that Dorian can stammer out, given how much his throat still hurts. He’s much too kind. The nurse just smiles back, a soft little thing, and waves his hand.

“Don’t mention it, kid. Just make sure you get better quickly.”

And that he did.

The doctor comes by later and informs Dorian he needs to wait until his lungs and ribs are healed to be able to go back to his routine. He’s helped by both Felix and Bull, whom he’s been referring to as “the hot nurse”, when he needs to get up to either bathe or use the toilet. Although he’s extremely embarrassed at being dependent on people to help him do such menial tasks, he feels like it could’ve been much, much worse. Dorian gives his statement to the police the very next day, when his throat isn’t so bruised and talking isn’t as hard, although he still has the eventual coughing fit, and Felix comes into his room an hour later carrying a bottle of cold water and an array of soft pillows, which he piles up on Dorian’s bed.

“Like a fortress of plumes and frills,” he says cheerily, and Dorian snorts but drapes his arms on the pillows around him, like a soft and fluffy throne.

One day later Dorian is already feeling bored out of his mind. It’s late in the evening and he’s jittery, the sheets on his bed feels itchy, the smell of the hospital is making him anxious and the food’s driving him up the walls. He shuffles further into the bed, the pillows Felix brought him toppling half on top of him. Dorian lets himself burrow further, hiding from the dim lights of his room and the blinking of his heart monitor. Which is when he gets an idea.

His hand shuffles down his belly, roams towards the inside of his nightgown, and his fingers find their target. Dorian exhales, relaxes further, and lets himself just forget where he is and _feel_. The pain on his chest and throat, mildly dulled with the drugs, almost thrums with the thrill of what he’s doing, his skin flushing and his lips parting, tongue peeking out to moisten his lips. His hand speeds up, his legs twitch, the safety of the pillows making him feel almost cocooned in his own little world, away from the hospital and the bruises and the boredom.

Then the door of his room slams open.

Dorian yelps, draws his legs close to his chest and burrows further into the pile of pillows, his hand shooting up to try and hide his painfully hard erection. Somewhere in the room he hears someone shuffling their feet, the soft _click_ of the door closing echoing out in the silence.

“Uh. Dorian?” Bull asks, hesitantly, and Dorian feels his face flush. There is no way in Thedas he doesn’t know what Dorian was doing.

“Fight me!” He blurts out, his voice muffled behind a pillow, and once again silence falls heavily onto the room, like a blanket of awkwardness covering them both.

_Did I really just say that?!_

“Did you just...?”

 _Well_. No backing down now.

“Y-you heard me! _Fight me!_ ”

A pause, a few more steps towards the bed.

Bull gently pushes away one of the pillows that’s hiding Dorian’s face and smiles down at him, much to his mortification.

“Maybe later, big guy.”

Dorian later finds out that he came in when he did because, despite the sensor not beeping loudly anymore, Bull’s remotely monitoring his vitals, and when they went through the roof he rushed in to see if Dorian was okay. He takes his vitals manually, checks that he’s fine, and assures Dorian that this is a normal occurrence. It happens all the time.

Doesn’t stop Dorian from cringing whenever he remembers it though.

 _Fight me_. Honestly.

The next morning, Dorian’s talking to Felix, reading his notes from the classes he missed in   college the day before, when Bull comes in to take Dorian’s vitals and give him his meds. Dorian makes eye contact with him and blushes, hiding the redness on his cheeks behind an annoyed frown. Bull lifts a single brow and Felix watches, confused.

“Got anything to say, Dorian?” Bull asks, grinning, and Dorian huffs.

 _If you’re in hell, hug the Devil_ , isn’t that how the saying goes?

“Why don’t you fight m--”

And, of course, that’s exactly when his throat decides to act up again.

Dorian coughs, chokes, then coughs more, bending forward as Felix helps by rubbing his back. It takes him a couple of minutes, but when the fit finally subsides, he raises his watery eyes to see Bull handing him a tall glass of water, a sympathetic smile on his lips.

“I won’t fight you, big guy,” he says, all mirth and good humour, as the cold water soothes Dorian’s throat. “Because I’m pretty sure you’d win.”

He takes Dorian’s vitals once his heart rate goes down, promises to come back with something for his throat, and leaves. Felix stares at Dorian like he’s grown a second head.

“ _Fight me?_ ” He asks, incredulous, and Dorian moans painfully.

“Don’t ask,” he croaks out, and Felix laughs but leaves it at that.

It takes just one more day for Dorian to be considered well enough to be discharged and stay on bed rest at home, and although he’s glad to leave the hospital he regrets not getting many interactions with Bull, the hot nurse that he ruined his chances with when he embarrassed himself - not just once either, but _twice_. A shame, really, but it’s not like he was expecting much from a prolonged stay in the hospital, mottled in black and green bruises, constantly disheveled and hacking his lungs out.

The receptionist insists he has to be wheeled out of the hospital, and at first he’s ready to retort and complain, until he looks to the side and sees that it’s none other than Bull pushing an empty wheelchair in his direction, his right hand clutching a hot coffee cup.

Well. Maybe being wheeled out of the hospital isn’t the _worst_ thing ever.

“Don’t let me see you come back too soon, you hear me, big guy?” Bull says once they’re safely out on the sidewalk.

“Don’t plan on it,” Dorian promises as he gets off the wheelchair. Bull nods and hands him the warm cup of coffee.

“Here. A goodbye gift, to wash away the taste of bland jello.”

Dorian laughs, accepts the coffee, then waves the nurse goodbye as he reenters the hospital, sighing wistfully at the sight of his retreating back. Only a man like him could rock a pair of simple scrubs.

It’s only half a block down the hospital, when he sits at the bus stop, that he notices something on his cup: a phone number, written in a thick pink marker, followed by the words:

 _Fight me?_ ❤

Dorian smiles, then saves the number on his phone.

Maybe he hasn’t lost his charm after all.


End file.
